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THE ACTING DRAMA. 

No. 110. 



BEOKEN PROMISES. 



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HAPPY HOURS COMPANY, 

No. 5 Beekman Street, New York. 



BROKEN PROMISES. 



A TEMPEEANCE DRAMA, 



In £ivc ^cts, 



B Y 



S . N . COOK, 

AUTHOR OF "out IN THE STREETS," "ENOCH ARDEN," ETC., ETC. 



COEEECTLT PRINTED FROM THE PROMPTER'S COPT, WITH THE CAST OF 
CHARACTERS, COSTUMES, SCENE AND PROPERTY PLOTS, RELA- 
TIVE POSITIONS OF THE DRAMATIS PERSONJE, SIDES 
OF ENTRANCE AND EXIT, DISPOSITIONS 
OF CHARACTERS, ETC., ETC. 



I 






NEW YOEK : 

Copyright secured, 1879, by 

HAPPY HOURS COMPANY, 

No. 5 BEEKMAN STREET, 



BEOKEN PEOMISES 



o:- 



CAST OP CHARAOTEHS. 



Mark Fields, (An Englishman),... 

Jim Larkin, (A Bumnter) 

Ned McCat.l, (An Rx4kief) 

Larry Bailey, (In lai>e -with Kitty) . 

Jack McCall, (A Counter/eitor j 

Bartender 

Mrs. Fields, (An Adventuress) 

KiTTiL. Fields, ( Daughter of iJlKVx). 
Nell Larkin, (Sister of Jim) .,,,,... 



COSTUMES.— MODEBN, 

Jim Larkin's dress very poor until change in last act, when it is to be very much 
too large for him. 



PEOPEETIES. 

ACT I. 

Carpet down. Cupboard. Curtains to window. Table. Six chairs. Paper 
money. Wine and glasses on tray in cupboard. 

ACT n. 

Scene L— Plain table. Five plain chairs. Pen, ink, and paper. Letter discov- 
ered on table. 
Scene II. — Sofa, r., at back. Tables R.c. and l.c. Six chairs. Money. 

ACT III. 

Liquor store bar fittings, complete, R. Two round tables. Chairs. Spittoons. 
Pocket pistol. Money. 



BROKEN PROMISES. 



ACT IV. 



Cottage furniture. Chintz curtains to window. Cottage tables, chairs, &c. Bun- 
dle of letters. Bottle of liquor and glasses on tray, with lemon, jug of hot water, 
sugar, and spoons offs.E.L. Liquor flask. 

ACT V. 

Carpet down. Handsome furniture — sofa, easy chairs, tables, and other chairs. 
Writing materials discovered on table. Bottle of chloroform. 



Scene.- 



SCENERY. 

ACT I. 

Interior backinc 







Window. 




Poor. 




o I 


1 


O 


1 1 










Chair. 




Chair. 




Chair 




1 








o 


ol 1 




Cupb'rd. 


Chair. Table. Chair. 






Chair. 












o 




Neatly Furnished Room in Mark Field's House. Back grooves. Window, r.f. 
Door, L.F. Cupboard s.e.r. Table k.c. 



Scene I. 



ACT II. 

Interior Backing. 



Door. 




Window. 



o 

Chair. 


1 1 


o 

Chair. 


1 1 


O 










cCDc 


Table. 








Chair. Table. Chair. 





BROKEN PROMISES. V 

A Room at Nelly La rkin's— plainly furnished. Second grooves. Door r.f. 
Window, L.F. Table, L.c. Small table, s.e.l. 



Scene II, 



Interior backing. 



X -wJw 


o 

Chair. 


S JOJo cCHo 


T 


Chair. Table. Chair. Chair. Table. Chair. 





Another Room in Mark Field's House. Back grooves. Centre doors. Doors 
S.E.R. and s.e.l. Sofa r. up stage. Tables, R.c. and l.c. Seven chairs. 



Scene. — 



ACT III. 

Interior Backing. 







Ch 




^ 




-1 1 


'^ 






^^ 












« 








; 


oCl 


lair 


• 



Centre doors. 



O 
Chair. 



o? 

Table. 



Chair, 



O 

Chair. 



o? 



Chair. 



Table. 



C 



Cl 



A Liquor Saloon. Ear iixtures, &c., R. Centre doors. Door s.e.l. Table r.c. 
and L.C- Six chairs. 



XI 



BBOEEN PBOMISES. 



Scene.— 



ACT IV. 

Exterior backing. 



Window. 



Door. 



1 



Chair. 

o O o o O o 

Chair. Table. Chair. Chair. Table. Chair. 




Cottage Interior. Door,L.F. Window, r.f. Tables, r.c. and l.c. Doors, S.E.R. 
and S.E.L. 



Scene. — 



ACT V. 

Interior backing. 



lir. Lari 



J 



Chair. Large c. Arch. 



Sofa. 

IZD 



Chair. Chair. Table. Chair. 
O 



oOo 

Chair. Table. Chair. 



A Drawing-Room at Mark Field's House. Centre arch. Doors s.e.R. and s.e.l. 
Sofa L. up stage. Tables, r.c. and l.c. Six chairs. 



%* There is no charge for the performance of this piece. 



BROKEN PROMISES. 



ACT I. 

Scene. — A Boom at Maek Field's. Neatly furnished. Door, Ij.¥. 
Windoio, icilh curtains, R.F Ctw&oards.E.R. lahle and two chairs 
E.C. Four other chairs. 

Miter Ned McCall, door L..r, 

Ned. Comfortable surroundings here, upon my word ; vast im- 
provement upon the late borne of Ned McCall. The old lady played 
her cards well, she fished for gulls and got one in the person of Mark 
Fields. And he, poor old fool, thought be was marrying the widow 
of that distinguished American, the late General McCall. (Laughs 
and sits k. ) Well, my paternal ancester was a distinguished man in 
certain circles. Ah ! that was a hard crew that I used to run with. 
(Jumps up, ) But that's all over now. We have parted company for 
good. I mean to shake them now, one and all. 

Enter Jim Laekin, door l.f. 

Jim, ( Opening the door and standing in doorway. ) Hello ! hello 
here ! This is a kind of a sylvan bower for a man like Ned McCall. 
Don't you find yourself out of place ? ( Comes down l. ) Vice in the 
abode of virtue ! 

Ned. (R.) There, there, that will do! Any further remarks are 
unneccessary, Mr. Larkiu. 

Jim. Jir. Larkin! (Laughs satirically.) That's good ! I'll take 
off my hat for that. (Salutes in like manner.) How fast we learn. 



8 BROKEN PKOMISES, 

Ned, I have just been tbiukiug about j^ou, Jim ; not only you, but 
all the old crowd of past acquaiutauces. I was thinking that 

Jim. We were old friends through thick and thin, that no change 
of time or circumstance, as the jDoet says, could ever change our 
friendship ! Eh, Ned ? (Slaps him on the shoulder, 

Xed. I was going to say, Jim, that the ties which once bound us 
together in the cause of interest 

Jm. Cannot now be rudely severed or sundered in the cause of 
friendship ! 

Ned. Don't interrupt me, Jim ! I wish now to ' 

Jim. Renew our vows of eternal fidelity, eh ? That's it, isn't it ? 
I know what you mean, Ned, but you're too modest to say the word. 
Modesty is what ails you, my boy ! it is a weakness with me also. 
But no matter about that, with all our modesty we remember the daj'S 
t^'hen the cramps nipped us often. And we remember that we were 
not sufficiently careful in our manipulations at times, and were 
obliged to play checkers with our respective noses, and gazed through 
windows adorned bj' (Laughing. 

Ned. (Seriously.) Jim, be quiet, will you? Those days you 
speak of belong to the dead past, that past which with me I wish to 
be buried deep in oblivion ; that the memories of the past like my 
companions of that time shall be forgotten in the future I 

Ji7n. You're right, Ned, you're right, v/ho can blame you? Go 
back on Sandy Magruder, and Fatty McDowell, and the whole crew 
of them. We'll shake them, won't we? Pals change as well as for- 
tune. Our circumstances have changed and we'll change with them 
— yes, we will shake them, Ned. 

iVec7. We will shake them, you say ? May I ask you, Jim, whom 
you mean by ice ? 

Jim. Why we, you and I, of course. We have been old partners so 
long that we are almost one, you know. (Laughs.) "Two souls 
with but a single thought," etcetera, etcetera, as the poet says. Many 
were the deeds of darkness done by us, Ned, and often we have sworn 
to share each other's fortunes in weal or woe, and we won't go backj 
on each other now, will we ? 

Ned. (Throws his hal dozen on table.) I am going to turn over a' 
new leaf now, and you must remember, Jim, that Ned McCall, the^ 
stepson of old Mark Fields, is not to be known in the places that once' 
knew Ned McCall, the 

Jim. (Angry.) Thief! I'll finish tnat sentence for you, Ned,"' 
because you're so modest and hate to say it ! (Laughs. - 

Ned. I cannot listen to such language. I've turned over a new 
leaf and am going to be a different man, and for the future associate 
with companions other than those I have associated with in the bitter 
past. 

Ji7n. Of course, give the boys the shake, allbut^old Jim. You'll 
stand by him to the last, won't you, Ned ? 



BEOKEN PROMISES. \} 

Ned. Ko ! We may as well tr}' to understand each otlier at once, 
Jim. When I shake one of the old crowd, I shall all. 

Jim. All ? 

Ned. Yes, all ! 

Jim. Do you include me ? 

Ned. I do. 

Jim. If any one had told me no longer ago than this morning that 
Ned McOall would shake his old pal,. Jim Larkiu, I would have 
knocked him down. And, if I hear any one say so now I'll knock 
him down. 

Ned. You would ? What, any one ? 

Jim. Yes, any one ! 

Ned. Do you include me ? 

Jim, I do. 

Ned. I am not to be threatened, Jim. 

Jim. And I am not to be triffled with, Ned. I am resolved and 
am going to stay with you, and that's all about it. 

Ned. You are not ! Once for all, the low class that I once asso- 
ciated with must not presume to know me now. 

Jim. *' Low class?" (Laughs.) That is good! To what class, 
pray, belongs Ned McCall ? 

Ned. Once a creature on the same grade with you, he is difterent 
now. He is a 

Jim. A tliief, as he always was ! None of your fine airs with me, 
Mr. Ned, You think to shake me because that mother of yours took 
in old Mark Fields, aud he' has money. She deceived him, made 
the old fool believe tliat she was a distinguished lady and well known 
in society, aud the simple hearted old Simon took it all in. She is a 
disUng^dshed lady, ain't she? (Laughs.) Yes, at Police head- 
quarters, well known in society (whispers him) of pickpockets. 
(Laughs.) Oh, you are a high-toned familj', you are, to shake Jim 
Larkin, I've a word to say about another matter being as you've got 
me started, and that is about Nell — my sister Nell — you've made 
fine promises to her too, and do you mean to break them ? Do you 
hear me ? Take your time and answer me cahuly, for I can stand a 
good deal of jolting around myself, but when it comes to Nell it's a 
different thing. She i-! my sister and any trifling with her means 
death to the trifler. Trifle with her feelings and there will be a 
funeral, my boy, and yon will be the corpse. 

Ned. Jim, ( points io door, 'L.-E.) move. 

Jim. Do you mean it ? 

Ned. I do, be livelj'. 

Jim. And how about Nell ? 

Ned. Don't mention her name to me again. Nell is a good girl 
and all that, but she must not expect me to recognize her now. I 
want you to understand, Jim, that I shake the whole crowd of you, 
now and for ever. 

Jim. (Putting on his hat. ) All right. I am a man of few words, 



10 BROKEN PEOMISES. 

but I'll see old Mark Fields. There is a chaper in the lives of two 
people — mother and sou— that will interest the old man, and I pride 
myself that I can tell that story as well as any one living, unless it is 
old Jack McCall, your fathe^-. 

2^ed. My father you know is dead. 

Jim. Your mother .would give a good deal to know that he was 
dead. He is a character that will figure in the story that I'm going 
to tell to old Mark Fields. 

iVed. You dare not tell him ! 

Jim. Not dare ? We'll see ! (Laughs. 

Ned. What Mould your word amount to, when mother and I deny 
all you say ? You will find yourself in the hands of the police unless 
you are pretty careful. Master Jim ! 

Jim. I see I'll have to dress you off a little, Neddy. 1 don't want 
to take you unawares — look out, I'm coming. ( Prepares to fight. J 
I'm a man of few words, and can accommodate you to any style of 
bruising you Avant. 

Ned. (Loudly.) Lay hands upon me, Jim Larkin, and you're a 
dead man. 

Jim. And the liveliest dead man you ever knew. (Laughs.) I'm 
coming now, where'U you have it ? 

Enta- Mes. Fields, door l.f. 

3Irs. Fields, (c.) What is the matter here, Ned? Who is raising 
this disturbance? 

Ned. Jim Larkin, mother. You and I know him too well for our 
own good, and if you had not come in when you did I would have 
kicked him into the street. 

Jim. Mrs. Fields, I'm sorry you came in. I wanted to feel the 
delightful sensation of moving out of your door under the soothing 
iufluence of a kick ! (Laughs. 

Mrs. F. Larkin, behave yourself, or you'll leave this house with a 
blue-coated escort you won't get rid of easily. 

Jim. A policeman ! Ha, ha ! 

Jfrs. F, Ah, you understand? And I think 1 understand the ob- 
ject of your present call ? 

Jim. If you don't, your son does. 

Ned. He means that we shall keep him a pensioner on our 
bounty. 

Jim. Is that it? A pensioner on the bounty of old IVIark Fields? 
Ha, ha, ha ! That's too good ! 

3Irs. F. You surely do not think to make your home here, Lar- 
kin ? You cannot mean it ! 

Jim. You know I don't. But Ned and I were old friends once, 
there never was a bit of villainy hatched in those shallow brains of 
his but what he told me of it. He hates to hear it now — it's the 
truth, though, all the same. But I could overlook Ned's going back 
on me if he did not mean to act so meanly with my Nell. 



BBOEEN PBOMISES. 11 



Mrs. F. Who is your Nell ? 

Jim. My sister, and a lady ! 

I^ed. Jim Larkin's sister a lady ? Ha, ha ! 

31rs. F. Be quiet, Ned ! 

Jim. Let Lim give me much more of his chin aud I'll force him to 
wear his jaw iu a sling ! 

Mrs. F. You two are bound to quarrel. Good day, Mr. Larkiu. 

Jim. Now that is something like ordering a man out in some kind 
of style, and I'll go. Sorry Mr. Fields is not at home. I should 
like to become acquainted with the gentleman. I used to have the 
pleasure of taking a drink with your former husband, and that re- 
minds me that I am dry just now, awfully dry. 

3Irs. F. Here, Larkin, is some money. Enough, perhaps, to add 
an additional lustre to that nose. 

Jim. Don't, madam, if you love me. That nose is a tender sub- 
ject, and it Jcnows it ! 

Mrs. F. It looks as though it was blistered. You drink too 
much ! 

Jim. Now don't ! That nose of mine ought to be a solemn warn- 
ing to all young men that drink, but it ain't. Bless you, that nose 
was once a handsome feature, but it is changed, as all things earthly 
change. Age dims the lustre of the brightest eye, frosts will wither 
the fairest and the choicest flowers, while drink puts a blossom no 
one cares to see on the most perfect nose that was ever blowed, sir- 
ree ! (Laughs. ) But I am moralizing, aud it is no time to moral- 
ize when a man is as dry as I am. Accept my thanks, madame, for 
this bit of paper, this thing the world calls money. Money the open 
sesame to the home of the aristocrat, the open sesame to the heart of 
women, the open sesame that does everything, and the open sesame 
to do everybody ! (Laughs.) Good day. (Exit Jim, l f. 

Ned. Thank goodness he is gone. I wish that I could feel that I 
was saying good day to Jim aud all his tribe forever. 

3frs. F. Well, you are not. Old acquaintances are not dropped so 
easily. You may try to, but they won't stay dropped, and by treat- 
ing rudely such a man as Larkiu we may bring upon us troubles 
which we cannot fight. With the knowledge that man has of our 
past, you know that he could crush ns. 

Ned. Mark Fields would not take the word of such a character as 
Jim. 

Mrs. F He might not, but other people would. Let the tougue 
of scandal once be turned on us and we are gone — our past won't bear 
the light. Mark Fields is my husband, but we have not got his 
money yet. 

Ned. That is the essential thing. But how to get it, that is the 
question. 

Mrs. F. 'Tis easier asked than answered, ___ 

Ned. What if I married Kittie ? 



12 BROKEN PROMISES, 



Ms. F. You marrj' Kittie — you— wh3% sbe does not notice you — 
more, sbe is engaged to that youug Lawreuce Bailey. 

Ned. To Larry Bailey ? 

Mrs. F. Do you know biui ? 

Ked. Yen ! I Ijave met bim. 

2Irs. F, Where ? 

Ned. On the street one night — it was very dark, and — I wanted to 
know the time of day — and— well, I could nut help it ! (Laughs. 

Mrs. F. An unfortunate meeting for bim. 

Ned. Yes, the loss of a gold watch and chain, that was all. 

Mark Fields. ( Withoxd, lf.) What are you doing in 'ere, you 
vagabond. What are you doing with my cane? 

Jim. ( Outside.) It is all a mistake. 1 thought it w'as mine. 

Elder Mark Fields, dragging in Jim Laekin, /rom L.r. 

Mark. Who is this 'ere thing a-rummagiug around this 'ouse this 
way, wife? He 'ad my cane and was making hoff with it. Do you 
know who he is ? 

Mrs. F. (R.c.) No, my dear! I am not acquainted with either 
thieves or tramps. 

Jim. (Aside, L.) She knows a good many of them. 

Mrs. F. What was he doing ? 

Mark. He was a makiug hoff with my cane. A pretty looking 
hanimal he is to 'ave a gold-'eaded cane. If you 'ave a gold-'eaded 
cane, young man, you'd better sell it and buy yourself some clothes, 
not come a-slipping into the 'ouse 'ere to steal. Who are you ? 

Jim. I'm a missiouar}', and I want to build a chapel. 

Mark, (l.c.) A missionary, and with a nose like that! Ha, ba! 

Jim. Another blow on my nose! Mr. Fields, you've wronged a 
man that is trying to do his duty for the destitute poor, you wrong a 
man who is tr} iug to reclaim the little wicked children from the 
errors of their wicked little ways. I stopped in front of your house, 
and I asked a boy who lived here, and he said, Mr. Fields, then I 
asked him whether Mr. Fields was a good man, and he said that 
" Mr. Fields was that kind of a bilk," and says I, "what did you saj', 
my son," and saye he, "oh, pull down your vest," and I pulled it 
down as far as I could, and came in to see if you'd subscribe to the 
Eag Alley Mission Chapel. 

Mark. What do you think, wife, is this 'ere thing a missionary ? 

Mrs. F. I suppose we must believe him. Give the poor man 
something, Mr. Fields, and let him go. 

Mark. Do you really think so, wife ? 

Mrs. F. We should give to all charitable objects in this world, my 
dear. 

Jim. Charity covereth up a multitude of sins, my tulips ! 

Mark. What do you mean, you old clothes rack ? Be respect- 
ful ! 



BROKEN PROMISES. 13 

Jim. I didn't mean auythiug personal. Give us what you can 
spare without robbing yourself. I'd love to report you to our com- 
mittee as one of our most liberal patrons. 

Murk. All right ! AVhere is your book ? 

Jim. My book ? 

Murk. Well, your paper then ! 

Jim. I don't understand. 

Mark. Wliy, if I give anything I want to put ray name down on 
something, don't I ? 

Jim. Of course ! Yes, yes— excuse me — where did I put it ? 
(Searches fiis doilies.) Never mind, a cash subscription will do as 
well, Mr. Fields. 

Mark. Yes, I think it will, when you get it. Will you take any- 
thing? 

Jim. Take anything ? (Aside.) What does he mean ? 

Mark. Yes, to drink ? 

Jim. Yes, gin if you please. 

Mark. (Laughs.) There is your missionary for you! You see 
that door? Now out you go — get, get ! (Flings him out.) Follow 
him, Ned, look after him, then give him in charge of the police. 
(Exit Ned, l.f. — l.c.) The idea of that man telling me that he was 
a missionary. It seems that almost everybody lies in this country. 

Mrs. F. There are so many imposters here, Mr. Fields, one rarely 
knows when to do a charitable act. 

Mark. A man must look out for swindlers. Even when he gets 
married he gets awfully sold sometimes. 

Mrs. F. (Aside.) Now what is up ? I wonder has any one been 
telling him about us. (Aloud.) Ah, Mr. Fields, these unhappy 
marriages often bring nothing but heart burnings and miserj'. 

Mark. Pray 'eaven that no such lot as that may full to us. But I 
sometimes think you do not love me, wife. 

Mrs. F. You are not yourself at all to-day, Mark Fields ! 

Mark. Am I not ? Well, well ! 

Mrs. F. (Aside. ) To get the money I have schemed for, I must 
pretend to love him. It's all pretense, for love's a stranger to 
my heart. (Aloud.) What makes you act so strange to-day, my 
dear? 

Mark. I've been thinking of Kittie, my daughter, thinking as 
bow she is not 'appy as she used to be, that it makes the chills creep 
over me. 

Mrs. F. That is easily accounted for. The girl's in love, my 
dear I 

Mark. With Larry Bailey ? What, in love ? 

Mrs. F. Yes ! 

Mark. Well, Larry is a good boy, wife. But I've been watching 
her for some time now. It's funny how girls hact sometimes, for 
yesterday when you were out I came in 'ere and found that she'd 
been crying, and I said to her, "My child, why do you hact as though 



14 BROKEN PROMISES. 



your 'eart was broke?" And the tears fell faster as sbe said, "My 
father, you dou't know uiy troubles, aud I cannot tell you now. 
They are troubles which affect us both, troubles which have just be- 
gun. (Iln goes io the table and leans his head down as if in study. 

Mrs. F. (Downfro)d. ) She told the truth, her troubles have just 
begun, aud will end only at her death. I must have Mark Fields' 
money, and it shall be no fault of mine if she does not see trouble 
enough to crush her. To make a drunkard of her father and to ruin 
her betrothed, shall be a work which I'll devote my best energies to 
accomplish. (Gets ioi)ie and glasses from clipboard, k.) It grieves 
me, Mr. Fields, to see you so gloomy. Here is something that will 
make you yourself again. 

Mark. No, no, 1 guess not. Kittie don't want me to drink, she 
■ says the 'abit is growing on me. 

Mrs. F, Is not my husband man enough to drink a glass of wine 
without drinking to excess ? 

Mark. I dou't know — it's a dangerous thing to fool with. I have 
found it so, and I am getting afraid of myself. 

Mrs. F. There is a glass for you. If you do not wish to drink 
with your wife, it is your privilege to refuse. 

Mark. I'll take it, wife, I'll drink with you. And now here is 
'opeing that no sorrow may cloud the lives of any of us through this 
bright tempter ! ( They drink. 

Enter Kitty Fields and Larry Bailey, l.p. 

Ma7'k. (R.c.) 'Ere's Kitty and Larry. ♦■Now we'll 'ave another 
glass. Come, fill up. 

luliie. (uc. ) Larry does not drink, father. 

Mark. Don't, hey ? All riglit, we won't hinsist ! 

Larry. 1 have promised Kittie, sir, and I will not break my 
word. 

Kiltie. And I will never trust my future happiness to the keeping 
of one who does drink. And please, father, never again ask Larry to 
drink, he has promised me faithfully that he never will. 

Larry. Mr. Fields, let us promiae Kitty that we will not touch 
another drop. It is a little thing for us to do, and it will bring hap- 
piness to one whom we hope may never see other than happy days. 

Mark. Yes, I 'ad better do it, for I never want to see the day that 
my little girl will be ashamed of me. I never want to see the day 
that Mark Fields will bring disgrace upon a name that never 
was disgraced. I'll promise you, my little girl. Larry and I will 
promise. 

Mrs. F. (b.) Mr. Fields are you silly enough to be influenced by 
a sentimental school-girl. I'd be a man if I were you, and not yield 
my liberty to take a second glass when I wished to. 

Mark. Come, wife, join with us. We will all be the happier 
for it. ^^ 



BKOKKN PROMISES. 15 

Mrs. F. Not I. Make your pledges to each other, what care I for 
theru. (Aside. ) I'll see you break them. (Laery, Kittie and Mark 
in groiip at back of stage, c, Mrs. Fields down front stage, r.) It is 
your time to smile now, Kittie Fields, but my time of triumph is yet 
to come. "When your father bec,omes so debased through drink as to 
cease to care for you, when your betrothed whom you now Ihiuk will 
ever be true to you proves false, I'll tell you of this day — tell you that 
though you once triumphed over me, it was but a brief triumph, 
while mine is a triumph that shall last through life — nay beyond this 
life, beyond the grave, even to all eternity. (Music — Tableau. 

END OP ACT I. 



ACT II. 

Scene I. — A Room at Nell Larkin's— PZawiZj/ furnished. Window, 
L.r. Door, e.f. Table — with pen, ink, and paper — and two chairs, 
L.c. Small round table, s.e.l. Two other chairs. 

Enter Jm Larkin, door r.e. 

Jim. Where is that girl, out as usual? Hello, she has been 
writing. I'll just look over it and see who it is to. (lakes it up.) 
Just as I expected, to Ned McCall. What does she say? (Reads.) 
"Dear Ned, why do you never come to see me ? My heart beats fast 
at every footfall. You said you never would forget your little Nell. 
You surely are trying to forget her now, or you would come." There, 
I've read enough. Sentiment of that kind goes back on me. Poor 
girl ! I suppose she cares for him as tenderly as though he were a 
gentleman. He'll never see this letter. (Fockeis it.) Just in time, 
for here she comes. 

Enter Nell Larkin, door r.f. 

Nell Larkin. (r.c.) You here, Jim ? 

Jim. (L.c) I'm here, Jim ! Ha, ha ! yes, I'm here ! 

Nell. Don't speak so harsh, Jim. Why do you try to hurt my 
feelings, and why do you leave me alone so much when you are the 
only friend I have in the world, unless it is — it is 

Jim. Ned MaCall. But Ned McCall is a good friend only to Ned 
McCall, and he does not intend to come here to see you any more. 



16 BROKEN PEOMISES. 



Kelt. Jim, j'ou are deceiving me again. 

Jim. Deceiving you? Now that is just as good as insinuating 
tliat I lie. ( Going. J Good evening. Write to me if I don't come 
again. 

Nell. Come back, Jim, come back. I did not mean to Fay that. 
I want you to stay with me awhile and talk, and — and — tell me about 
Ned. What makes you think he will not come to see me more ? 

Jim. Now that is a business like question, and as I'm a man of 
few words, why 1 11 answer it. 

Nell. Go on, Jim, go on. 

Jim. Well, then, in the first place, since his mother married old 
]\Iark Fields, he bus forgotten to call around and see his old friends, 
so I invited myself to call on him. It was a cold reception, but I 
made it warm before I left. 

Nell. (Beproachfally. ) What did you do, Jim ? 

Jim. Now no remarl<s. He njade great promises to you, and I 
wanted to know what he intended. He said you must never expect 
him to paj' any attention to you hereafter. Just then I felt able to 
pummel about fourteen dozen such young men as Ned McCall, and I 
was about proceeding to spoil his physiognomy for him 

Nell. Oh, Jim, you did not mean to injure him? 

Jmi. Yes, 1 did mean to injure him though, and had his mother 
not come in when she did 

Nell. Oh, then his mother came in and sei^arated you, did she? 
I'm so glad ! 

Jim. jNow ain't you ashamed of j'ourseif to take the part of that 
mean, sneaking, cowardly cuss? I was about to embellish his coun- 
tenance with a few scientific blows, when his mother came in. She 
did not want any quarrel. She knows too much for that, and that it 
is policy to keep up a show of friendship with me. But they feel 
above you, and no matter what you know you can't make that chap 
love you, Nell. 

Nell. Do you think that Ned will forget me now, and never come 
again ? If I thought that, I shoidd hate him. 

Jim. That is right. It is your duty, it is everybody's duty, to hate 
Ned McCall. 

Nell. Won't you tell him to come just once more and see me? I 
want to have a talk with him, then he can go forever. Won't you tell 
him, Jim ? Do, please do ? 

Jim. No, I won't, so now you know. And I won't stay here talk- 
ing about him any longer. Business is business, and must be attend- 
ed to, so good evening. (Exit k.f. 

Nell ( Sils (d table, l.c.) And now my life will be more desolate 
than ever. Ned will never come to see me more. If he deserts me it 
will not be his fault, but the fault of others. Poor Ned, I said that I 
would hate you, but I cannot! Hate Ned? I love him! But I 
shall hate Mark Fields, for he is the one who is trying to keep Ned 



BROKEN PROMISES. 17 



rem me. It is because he is rich that he would have Ned desert me ! 
But he won't ! Never ! never ! 

Miter Mark Fields, door r.f. 

31ark. (r.c.) I 'ope I am not hiutrudiug, Miss, but I want to see 
a lady that they call Nell Larkiu. 

Nell. (L.c.) I am Nell Larkiu. 

M(irk. And you are Nell Larkiu, are you ? 

Ndl. I think I informed you of the fact. 

Mark. You did. I come to see you, miss, and I want to see you 
all alone. 

Nell. ( Points to door. ) There! That is where you came in, sir. 

Mark. Yes, I know. 

Nell. Well, then, go ! 

Mark. Girl, did you mean to border me out ? 

Nell I did, sir. 

Mark. I'll go, but it's the first time in my life that I was bordered 
out of an 'onse. 

Nell. Wbiit, pray, is your business with me ? 

Mark. I'll tell you, lass. Do you know a yoimg lad in this city 
by the name of Lawrence Bailey ? 

Nell. I do not. 

Mark. Did you ever see him ? 

Nell. I do not know that I ever did. Why do you ask ? 

Mark. You're telliug me the truth, lass, when you say he never 
came here. 

Nell. I told you, sir, that I never knew him, I told you that I 
never saw him. Why do you ask me if he ever came here ? Would 
any sober man ask such questions? 

Mark. Don't say that, lass, don't say that I am drunk. My head 
is clear, girl, it is my heart that is clouded, and it is about my girl, 
my Kittle, that I am grieving now. You do not know her. She is 
about your age, I think. She used to be as 'appy as a bird, but now 
slie is not. But she won't tell me what it is that troubles her. Yet I 
heard something to-day. My wife was talking, and I heard the 
names of Nell Larkiu and Larry Bailey, and Larry is the one whom 
Kittie loves, and hearing your name and his spoken was why I came 
to see you, I cannot bear to see my little darling suffer. She is all 
I have now in the world to love. There is one who should care tor 
me, but in place of love sbe tries to make my life a burden. I came 
from England, lass, and over there I left a loved one sleeping in the 
church-yard at Dunlea. It is Kittie's mother that is sleeping there. 

( Einoiion. 

Nell. I am sorry that I hurt your feelings, but I do not know the 
young man you speak of. And it is very strange that your wife, 
whom I have never met, should be talking about Mr, Bailey aiid I. 

Jia?7c. No, no ! 'Twas my wife and Ned were talking. 



18 BROKEN PROMISES. 

Nell (Excitedly.) Ned— Ned McCall ? 

Mark. Yes. 

Nell. Then yon are Mark Fields ? 

Mark. Yes, did I forget to tell you when I came in ? Do you 
know Nel ? 

Nell. Ned McCall was once my friend, but since he became a 
member of your family he has forgotten me, and I thought perhaps 
you were the cause of it. 

Mark. 1 the cause of it ? How could I when I did not know you ? 
How long have you known Ned McCall ? 

Nell. Ever since we were children almost. 

Mark. I thought they had not lived in the city long, that they had 
only come here siuce the General died ? 

Nell. The General ? What Gen 

Mark. Why old General McCall, her husband. 

Nell. (Laughs.) The idea of calling old Jack McCall General. 
Who calls him General ? 

Mark. My wife does. Tell me all you know about that man 
McCall. 

Nell. Tour wife can do that. 

Mark. I 'ave her story. I want yours now. 

Nell. I'll tell you this much, sir, the father of Ned McCall was one 
of the worst men in this city. Old Jack McCall was not only a gam- 
bler, but was connected with a baud of counterfeiters, and left the 
city in time to escape the penitentiary. 

Mark. Oh the disgrace, disgrace. And is he dead ? 

Nell. I do not know. 

Mark. Does my wife know that her husband was that kind of a 
man? 

Nell. How could she help it, sir, she lived with him. 

Mark. Counterfeiters, gamblers, thieves ! Can it be that I have 
brought such people to my house. But I'll drive them out, 1 11 drive 
them out ! I can't go yet, let me sit down a moment, (sits) and 
think what I can do ? 

( Overcome by his feelings, he goes to table, drops iyi chah; and 
is unconscious of all around, until aroused by Jim. 

Enter Jim Larkin and Ned McCall, door e.f. 

Jim. I have got him, Nell. Here is your prodigal calf, you'll find 
him humble. 

Nell. You have come at last, have you ? 

Ned. Forgive me, Nell. I have not treated you right. I am 
sorry, and will do better iu the future. (Embrace. 

Jim. (Discovers Mark.) Who is this doffer? See here, Nell, 
what is up here ? Tell me, Nell, what does this mean ? 

( Grasps her roughly. 

Nell. Do not hurt me, Jim. Go see for yourself who it is. You 
know him, Ned. 



BBOKEN PB0MISE6. 19 

Md, I do not. Who is it? 

J'm. ( Goes to Mabk. ) Look here, my silver-haired duffer, awake, 
I want yon. 

Mark. (Looks up. ) You here ? 

Jim. (Retreating.) Mark Fields! 

JSfed. Mark Fields ? 

Mark, (Starts.) Ah, that viper here. I'd better kill you now 
before you do me more harm. You think you've played it sharp ou 
me, you and that woman. Out of my sight before I kill you, 

Jim. See here, old macovy, don't do anything rash here, or I'll 
take a hand. If this arm flies out an old gray-headed man will hear 
something drop. This young man is here by request, and you want 
to change the general tone of your remarks, or you'll get bounced. 

Mark. Get what ? 

Jim. Get bounced ! Shot right out through that door with the 
velocity of a cannon ball. 

Mark. I will, hey ? you'll put me out ? (He chases Jim around 
the room — Seizes him. ) Oh, to think what wretches I have brought 
home to be companions of my little girl. Out you go from this door 
with the velocity of a cannon ball. ( Throws Jim out, door r.f. — To 
Ned.) Young man, you and your mother have wronged me deeply, 
and I don't want you to darken my doors again. I warn you, mind 
you heed me ! (At door. 

Md. Sorry, sir, to disappoint you, but I consider that my home 
now and I propose to stay. 

Mark. Defy me, but let it be from a distance. Let me see you 
and I'll chastise you. Enter my door again and I'll strike you down. 

(Exit, door b.f. 

li'ed. Come, Nell, my girl. The old man has been imposed upon, 
but I'll explain all to your satisfaction. I'm your own true Ned, and 
ever will be. 

Mil. Do, Ned, that is all I ask. 

(Ned leads her off, l. — Clear stage. 



Scene II. — Another Room in Mabk Fields' House. Centre doors. 
Doors S.E.B. and s.E.ii. Sofa b,, up stage. Tables and chairs e.c. 
and L.C. Three other chairs. 

Enter Mas. Fields and Kitty Fields, s.e.b. 

Mrs. F. (l. ) Do you mean to insinuate, Miss Fields, that I have 
encouraged your father to drink ? 

Eittie. (B.) You know that you have. He was never known to 
be intoxicated in his life, until you came here. Oh, what misery 
you have brought us. 



20 BROKEN PEOMISES. 



Mrs. F. Don't t:ilk to me iu that mauuer, j'oung ladj'. Yon are 
not the mistress of this house now and your insolence will not be 
borne by me. 

Kiiiie. This to me iu my fathers house, the home in which you 
are an unwelcome intruder. Yoil will not bear with my insolence? 
I tell you the truth— plain truths. IMy father has become a drunkard 
and you have caused it, you tempted him to drink, while the knowl- 
edge of your past life and the great disgrace you have brought upon 
us, caused my poor father to take the downward path. Oh, if he had 
only driven you off that night. 

Mrs. F. He was as helpless as his daughter. His will was good 
enough but he could not help himself. I proposed that night to 
stay, and stay I did, and stay I will. 

Katie. You have succeeded in your attempt to hoodwink my 
father, but I will ferret this thing out— I will never rest until, the 
game that you have played upon my father is exposed. The world 
shall kuow your baseness, shall know your villainy. 

Mrs. F. How silly of you to threaten me, as though I feared your 
threats. I give you fair warning, yoin- father's wealth soon will I 
convert to my own use, I do not fear to tell you this, it gives me 
pleasure, for drink and I have got him beyond all hope of your re- 
claiuiing — yon, a poor helpless girl ! 

Kittle. Oh, fiend, for you are one if there was ever fiend in human 
form, you taunt me by boasting of the rain you have wrouglit. And 
you are here to take the place of my dead mother. Bat 1 will save 
my father ! Larry and I will save him from yonr greedy aims ! 

3Irs. F, Larry and you ? Ha, ha ! You will do well if you save 
Larry ! 

Kiltie. I have no fears for him. He is beyond your influence. I 
have all confidence in Larr}'. 

Mrs. F. So has Nell Larkin. 

Kittie. Who is Nell Larkin ? 

Mrs. F. Ask Larry. 

Enter NiiD McCall and Jim Larkin, c. door, 

Mrs. F. I'm glad you have come, Ned ; I want your assistance. 
Lock that young lady in her room, then bring me the key. 

Xed. (R.c.) Very well. Come along with me, young lady. If I 
take hold of you, you'll come. 

Kitty, (c.) You lay a hand upon me, if yon dare. 

Ned. Mother, I'm afraid I'll have to let this contract out. 

Mrs. F. Coward, are you afraid of a girl ? 

Jan. (L.) Give him something easy, Mrs. Fields, he ain't used 
to danger. 

Mrs. F. Take that girl to her room, Ned McCall, or consider this 
yonr home no longer. 

Jim. Stand back, and let me do the talkiug. Miss Fields will 



BROKEN PROMISES. 21 



yon go to 3'oiir room and be locked iu. I ask it as a special 
favor. ( Grosses to l. c. 

Kiitie. I will not. 

Jim. (L.c.) Will j'Oii go by the gentle iufliience of moral suasion 
or nmst I use brute force ? 

Kiltie. Brute force ? 

Jim. I used the wrong word, physical force was what I meant. 
Ho here goes ! Come along with me. 

Kiltie. Never, sir ! 

Mrs. F. (r,. ) Take her to her room, I say, if you are obliged to 
take her there dead. 

Jim. That's business. Gentle maiden, you're going. I'll bear you 
away like an angel. 

(Jim attempts to take Kittie from the room — she flings Jam vio- 
lenthi on the floor. 

Kiitie. ( (jailing. ) Help ! 

Eniev Mark Fields, intoxicated, door s.e.r, — Staggers against Kittie. 

Kittie. Oh, father, j)rotect me from these people. Do not let 
them harm me, 

Maik. Are you trying to throw me down— hie — my girl ? 

Kittie. Oh, this is awful ! 

31ark. What is awful ? (Staggers. 

Kiltie. You promised me you would not drink any more and now 
you are drunk. 

Mark. Drnnk ! Ain't you ashamed to say that of your father ? 
(Heels— Mns. Fields, Ned, and Jim laugh.) What are they laugh- 
ing at, Kittie ? 

Kitlie. They are laughing at you ? 

Mark. At me ? what for ? 

Kittie. They are laughing to think what a wreck they have made 
of you, laughing at my misery, laughing to think that you are no 
longer man enough to protect your daughter from the insults of these 
Yillains. 

31ark. What are they trying to do, Kitty ? They sha'n't do you 
any harm. 

Kitlie. Do you know what they were trying to do when j^ou came 
in ? That woman ordered me to be locked in my room, and those 
beings proposed to force me there, 

Mark. She is old enough to go to her room when she gets ready, 
(To Mits. Fields.) Who is going to obey you, madam ? 

Mrs. F. Your daughter shall, and you too, you drunken dog. 

Mark. Do you hear that, Kitty, she calls me a drunken dog. 
She Avho plead with me to drink when I did not want it. And now 
she calls me a drunken dog. Have I got so low as that. 

Kittie. No, no, do not listen to her, father. 

Mrs. F. Will you go to your room ? 



22 BBOSEK PROMISES. 



Kittie. I will not. 

Mrs. F. Why do you stand there, cowards ? You are, not afraid 
of that niau, I hope? 

Jim. Coward, hey ? "Will you see that the old man don't interfere, 
and we will see that the girl goes. (Seizes her. 

Kittie. Father, won't you protect me ? 

Mark. ( Staggers up. ) I will! Stand back here, this house is 
mine. Go away and leave my girl alone. Kitty and I was happy 
until you came here. 

(Mas. Fim.T>s forces Mark into a chair — Jim and Ned take hold 
of Kittie, ayid start to leave. 

Kittle. Help, help! Oh, Larry, Larry, help me ! (Music. 

Ned. Not this time, Kittie ! There is no Lairy here to help you. 

Miter Lakey Bailey, c. 

Larry. Yes, there is, you villain. I see I am just in time. I'll 
help you. (Knocks Jim down.) Take that, you scoundrel. (To 
Ned.) And 3'ou, young mau, never attempt to lay hands upon Kittie 
again or you will fiud that the settlement you will have with me will 
be oue you will have cause to remember while you live. 

Kittie. Come, Larry, father, come with me to the library. ( To 
Mrs. Fields. ) You see, I have yet a friend now who is able to pro- 
tect me. (Exeunt Kittie, Larry, and Mark, c. door. 

Mrs. F. (0.) I promised you, young lady, that I'd make a drunk- 
ard of your father, and that you should see your lover false to you. 
One of my promises I have fulfilled, and you will fiud my words come 
true in regard to the other. 

Jim. (L.) That is a good sized undertaking you've got on hand 
now, Mrs. Fields. It is au easy matter to get a man to drink, but to 
get a chap like Larry Bailey to go back on Kittie Fields will be a vast- 
ly difi'erent thing. 

Mrs. F. What do you know about such matters ? All men are 
fools. 

Jim. Thank you, thank you ! 

Mrs. F. When I determine to do a thing I never fail. Your sister 
Nell must play a part in this. Ned shall write some letters, sign 
Larry Bailey's name to them, requesting permission to call on your 
sister, and you, Jim, shall write one to Larry, asking him to call and 
sign Nell's name. As I said, men are all fools, and he will go. If 
he won't drink, drug him, chloroform him, any way to make him ap- 
pear intoxicated. I have already poisoned her mind in regard to 
your sister. When everything is ready I shall bring Kittie to your 
sister's rooms, and then my revenge will be complete, and my words 
come true. 

Jim. I don't like the idea very well. 

Ned. (R,) You didn't like the blow that Bailey just now gave 
you, either. 



BEOKEN PKOMISES, 23 



Jim. I didn't enjoy it much,, that's true. If I understand matters 
rightl}', my sister is simply to be a cat's paw for the rest of us vil- 
lains. 

Mrs. F. If 3'ou have a mind to put it that way, yes. 

Jim. Madam, it will take some money to reconcile my feelings iu 
this matter. I will have to have something to soothe a troubled con- 
science. 

Mrs. F. Yonr conscience gives you little trouble, sir, but your 
greed for money is insatiable. 

Jim. Perhaps it is ! But money I must have for this thing all tho 
same. 

Mrs. F. How much ? 

Jim. Let me see ! First there is putting somebody's name other 
than mine on paper, that is a serious matter. Well, considering the 
wear and tear of conscience, it's worth fifty dollars. 

Mrs. F, Nonsense ! I'll give you ten. 

Jim. Fifty dollars, or the plot fails. 

3Irs. F. I haven't so much money about me. 

Ned. Come, Jim, be liberal, for old friend's sake. 

Jim. Neddy, old friends go back on one another sometimes. If 
j'our memory is not too bad, you may recall an instance of it. 

Mrs. F. If the plot succeeds, I will pay you fifty dollars, but I've 
not got it now. 

Jim. I'm a man of few words, and full of business— put it down 
on paper. 

Mrs. F. Must I give my note to you ? 

Jim. That is it exactly. I'll write the note. 

(Jim seats himself at table, l.c. — Mrs. Fields looking over his 
shoulder — Ned looking on. 



END OP ACT n, 



24 BROKEN PEOMlSES. 



ACT III. 

Scene. — A Liquor Saloon. Centre doors. Door s.e.l. Bar fixtures, 
&c., set E. Tables and chairs n.c. and l.c. OUier chairs. 

Baktendee discovered behind counter, E. 
Mder Maek Fields, c. door. 

Mark. Give me some brand}' and quick ! 

Bartender, (e.) All right, Mr. Fields ! Sugar and lemon, sir? 
(Sets out glass ofbrandg, sugar, &c., on counter. 

Mark. Ko, bring me a bottle of it to the table here. I want to be 
alone. (Seats himself at table, l.c. 

Bart. Here 3'ou are, sir. (Takes a bottle and glass to table, l.g. 

Mark. Yes, here I am, and a j)retty place it is for me. 

Bart. You were not obliged to come here, I suppose. 

Murk. No, but yoii are glad to get my money any^va3^ 

Bart. Your money is as good as any one's, sir. 

Mark. It don't matter to you whose heart is broken by it. 

Bart. That is not in my line. I am selling drinks now. You 
will have to look out for the heart business yourself. 

Mark. Go away and leave me. I wish to be alone. (Bartender 
goes back to counter, e. ) If I could only stop now, for this is a-kill- 
ing Kittie, it is. (Drinks.) It warms me so and stops this shaking. 
There is no use talking it makes me feel better. 

E)der Jim Laekin, c. door. 

Jim. r To Baetender, E. ) Good morning, Johnny. 

Bart. You are around early this morning, Jim. 

Jim. Oh no, not for me. But who is that solitary individual ? 

Bart. Mark Fields. 

Jim. That is too selfish. I'll invite myself to drink with him. 

Mark. It keeps a burning in my 'art all the time when I ain't 
drinking. ( Drinks. 

Jan. (Crosses to l.c.) Good morninp', Mr. Fields! Taking a 
little nerve tonic, are you ? That is rignt, a few glasses at a time and 
at stated intervals. Of course a man don't want to make a hog of 
himself. No, thank you, I don't care about drinking now. Oh well, 
if you are going to get mad about it, I'll drink. (Drbiks. 

Mark. Who asked you to drink ? 

Jim. Now don't get that off on me again. That is the joke yon 
get off on me on all occasions. Ill wash it down, however, with 
another drink, (Drinks. 



BROKEN PROMISES. 25 

Mark. I came here to be alone. Why do you come to bother 
me? 

Jim. I have come to driuk with yon, not to bother yon. 

3Iark. I wish you had all the driuk there was in the world, and 
that I had never seen auy. 

Jim. Oh, don't say so, yon make me so drj'. Why I should be as 
happy as a clam if I had what you've got away with lately. 

3Iark. 'Appy ! No, it won't make you 'appy. It has brought 
more misery to me than anything else. It's a-killing Kittie, it is, but 
it seems as though I can't stop. 

Jim. I'll tell you how to stop. 

Mark. Tell me some way and I'll try it. 

Jim. Whenever you get thirsty come for me, and I'll do the drink- 
ing and you can look on and do the paying. 

Mark. Do you mock me ? I never have done you any harm that 
you should talk to me this way. 

Jim. Yon need not try my plan if you don't want to. But it was 
the best I had to offer -you could stop drinking and I coiild get a 
longing satisfied. Yon know everybody longs for something and the 
various desires and longings of the human family have been the cause 
of many serious reflections on my part. I think of the young maiden 
who longs for a lover, and when one comes she longs for him to pro- 
pose, and when he proposes she longs for him to marry her for fear 
he'll back out. Then after marriage she longs for him to go and be an 
angel. The old miser longs for gold, an old maid for a chance to 
gossip, and so on through the various shades of humanity up to Jim 
Larkin, and he longs just now for another drink, and he'll have it. 

(Drinks. 

Mark. And I long to be a man once more. You are smart enough 
to be sometliing, what do you want to be a fool for, and loaf around 
saloons, making a dead beat of yourself? 

Jim. We are even, old man. I was liberal with your brandy, 3^011 
are liberal with your compliments. Let us call it square and quit 
company. 

Mark. What do you make your living at ? Tell me that. 

Jim. You are too familiar, my friend, by a large majority. Never 
ask a man what his business is ; it is often ii very difficult question to 
answer. But no matter, let us have one good square sociable drink 
together. 

Mark. No more for me, take it yourself. You may as well kill 
yourself now as any time. 

* Jim. Yes, thank you, I'd be happy to kill myself that way often. 
Ill drink to your health and happiness, long life and prosperitj% 
hoping that I may ever find you willing to gratify the appetite of a 
thirsty fellow mortal. 

Mark. It makes me shudder to hear a young man like you talk that 
way. I hate to see another man go down to death as I am doing. 
Oh, Kitt3', Kitty, my child, where art thou ? 



BBOKEN PROMISES. 



Enter Kittie Fields, c. — The Bartender starts tip and tries io stop 

her. 

Katie. Here, father, here ! No, you shall uot stop me. I will see 
my father. Oh, father, to thiuk that I should find you in such a 
place as this, and in such couipauy. 

Jim. Nothing objectionable in the company ! 

( Struts and goes to bar, r. 

Mark, (l.c.) Oh, Kittie, my girl, what did you coiue here for? 
why do you come to KUcii a place as this ? 

Kiltie, (c. ) AVhy not, father? you are here. 

Mark. Is it not a shame that I am here? 

Kiltie. Yes, it is a shame. But won't you go with me now. I 
have never come after you before, promise me that 1 shall never have 
occasion to come for you again. 

Mark. Yes, my girl, I promise you I'll never come here again. 

Jim. He's a splendid promiser. 

Mark. Yes, I don't want to stay, and T don't want my girl to stay 
a moment in this place. Look at that thing, Kittie, he follows me 
around to drink off }ue, is he not a nice companion for Mark Fields. 
Look here, young man, (to Jim, r. ) it does no good to talk to you, 
if you want that stiiff there in the bottle take it It will make your 
eyes redder than they are, and your hand shake worse than mine. 
But there is one thing that it won't do for you, it won't make you so 
ashamed of yourself as it does me, for you are too far down the hill 
now for shame. (Exit Mark and Kittie, c. 

Jim. (With bottle as they leave.) Thank yon, here is hoping — 
Johnny I was in luck this morning. See here, a half bottle left, and 
here comes Ned to help me finish it. 

Enter Ned McCalt,, c. door, 

lied. I know where to look for yon, old boy. 

Jim. (c. ) You have come here often enough to learn the T.ray. 
Well, how did you make out? 

Ned. (li.c) Nell is all right now. She don't know what to make 
of Larry Bailey's writing to her, 

Jiyn. It's a shame to fool the girl that way. 

Ned. That is all right. Bemember, Jim, you are working for fifty 
dollars. 

Jim. And you are working for all that old Mark Fields has got. 

Ned. AVho has got a better right tlian the old lady to his money? 

Jim. His daughter would have, I think. 

Ned. It is none of your business as long ns we pay you for what 
you do. Bemember, Bailey is to be at Nell's to-niglit and you must 
be on hand. But I can't'tarry with you now. Important business 
up with me. 

Jim. Stop, young man, and lubricate your glands. ( They drink. 



BROKEN PROMISES. 2? 



2^ed, That is no time. But I'm off ! To-niglit, my boy I 

(Exit Ned, c. 
Jim. I'll be there to-night, dou't fear. (Brinks at table, L.C. 

Mde7' Jack McCall, c, who goes to bar, e., and calls for a drink. 

Jim. (L.C.) Now who is that ? Some one who don't want any of 
onr vigilant guardians of tlie peace to gaze upon his countenance, I 
should judge. I know that iace. ( Wliisiles.J Now, won't there be 
fun ! Jack McCall! Of all the men in the world he is the last oue I 
expected to see. (Crosses to Jack.) Hollo, old man, let uie gaze 
upon you, let me take you by the hand, lleturu, oh wanderer, re- 
turn. ( Cidls. ) Jack ! 

Jnck. (R.c.) Hush! (Points to Bartender — They come down 
front.) Do you want every cop in the city to know that I am 
here ? 

Jim. (L.c.) I am sure I don't know why the distinguised Gen- 
eral McCall, once dead, now returned to life, should object to his 
name being proclaimed abroad. 

Jack. What kind of a game are yon trying to give me ? What do 
mean by giving me the name of General McCall? 

Jim. Didn't you know that you was a dear dead distinguished 
darling ot a General who dared to die for his country's good ? 

(Laughs. 

Jack. What do you mean ? 

Jim. Have you lieard from your wife since you left ? 

Jack. No, that is why 1 come back. Is she dead, eh ? 

Jim. Oh, no, no such good news as that. The lady who was once 
your wife is your wife no louger. 

Jack. Jim Larkin, if you don't tell me now devilish soon what 
you're driving at, you and I will have a serious misunderstand- 
ing. 

Jim. She's married. 

Jack. What ? 

Jim. Married. 

Jack. You lie. 

Ji7n. All right, prove it. 

Jack. Prove what you say about my wife. 

Jim. I can easily do that. I have just been drinking with your 
partner in misery. Excuse me, I mean her husband pro tern, num- 
ber two. 

Jack. Who is he ? 

Jim. Mark Fields is the name of the unfortunate gentleman. He 
is an Englishman, is a good fellow, and is rich, or was, but she is 
doing her bent to relieve hiia of it. 

Jack. How did she happen to take him in? She knew that I was 
living. 

Ji7n. Of course, but she did not care a cuss. She thought you 



28 BEOKEN PKOMISES. 

wonkl never dare returu here, and she saw a p;ood chance for money. 
She pretended to be the widow of a General McCull. She played her 
cards well and roped her man. 

Jack. If the police don't interfere with me too soon she'll pay 
dear for her fan. I suppose she would pay considerable to keep Jack 
McCmU out of the way ? 

Jim. She would, I'd stake my last dollar on that. 

Jack. It would take a pile of money to cover your last dollar. 

(Laughs. 

Jim. More than you've got about your clothes now, I'll bet. But 
we are getting off the subject, let us resume. May 1 ask what you 
are going to do about it ? 

Jack. Yes. (Pause, 

Jim. Well ? 

Jack. Well I 

Jim. What? 

Jack. You wanted to know if you could ask what I intended 
doing. 

Jim. Yes ! 

Jack. You can ask, that is all right, but I thought you knew Jack 
McCall well enough to know that he keeps his own secrets. 

Jim. So does Jim Larkin, only sometimes be has a good one that 
he can aflord to sell to the detectives. 

Jack. You threaten me, do you. Now you come along with 
me. 

Jim. I'd rather not. 

Jack. I suppose so. I don't intend to fool with you. I'll let 
daylight through you if you don't follow me. ( Froduces pistols, 

Jim. I'll go Mith you, Jack, to the jaws of death. 

Jack. You are mighty near there now. 

Jivi. Yes, in a saloon. 

He-enter Mark Fields, c. door. 

Mark. Jim Larkin, you're the man I'm after. 

Jim. What's up now ? Ain't this business though, face to face. 

Jack. (R.c, to Jim.) Who is this man ? 

Jim. (L.c. ) Mark Fields, allow me the honor of presenting to you 

my distinguibhed friend 

Jack. Hush ! 

Jim. Too late ! Jack McCall I 

Mark, Jack McCall I th(!) 'usband of my wife . ( Tableau, 

END OF ACT IQ. 



BBOKEN PROMISES. 29 



ACT IV. 



Scene. — Cottage Interior at Nell Larkin's. Door l.f. Window e.p. 
Tables r.c. ancf l.c. Boors s.e.r. and s.e.l. Five chairs. 

Enter Ned McCall and Nell Larkin, door s.e.l, 

iVed What right has Larry Bailey to be writing to j'ou when he 
expects to marry Kittie Fields ? 

NdL No right. I have never paid any attention to his lettere. I 
cannot understand it. Why do you wish me to let Larry Bailey 
come here to see me? You are keeping something back from me. 

Ned. Oh, you are always worrying. I want to punish him for his 
trickery ? 

Nell What trickery ? 

Ned. Is not this Larry Bailey trying to rob me of that which I 
prize more than all things else, the love of Nell Larkin ? 

Nell. I shall refuse to see him if he comes. 

Ned. No, that won't do, treat him kindly. 

Nell. I won't. 

Ned. You must. 

Nell. I must ? Are you my master ? 

Ned. Don't get angry, Neilie. I mean that you will please do as 
I tell you, for my sake. I must go, Nell. He will be here soon. I'll 
not be far away. (Exit l.f. 

Nell. (Sets r.c.) I feel that I am doing wrong. Why does Larry 
Bailey wish to see me ? If he is the betrothed of Kittie Fields he is 
doing her a great wrong in coming here, and I shall tell him so. 

Enter Larri Bailey, door l.f. 

Larry. Miss Larkin, I believe. Obedient to yoiar summons I 
have called. 

J^ell (Rises.) I fail to understand the import of your words. 
At your earnest solicitation, I have accorded you this interview. 

Larry, (l.c.) My solicitation ? Beg pardon, Miss Larkin, but I 
-am sure it was at no request of mine that I am here. 

Nell. I have your letters, sir. 

Larry. My letters ? I never wrote any. 

Ndl. ( Takes letlersfrom pockd. ) They are here, sir. 

Larry. Let me see them if you please. 

Nell, No ! I'll show these letters to Miss Fields and tell her what 
a poltroon you are. 

Larry. 1 shall be the first to acquaint Miss Fields of this plot 
against me ! 



30 BROKEN PBOMISES. 

Nell. Plot, sir ! AVliat do j'ou mean ? 

Larry. Yon are very iuiiocenL. 1 see now why Nell Larldu in- 
vited ii»e to call. 1 Lave heard of yon, Miss Larkiu — until this mo- 
ment I supposed yon were a lady, but now I've chauged my mind. 

Nell. I am a poor girl, sir, one of the common herd, as yon would 
say. If ever again one of the dainty lords of creation of the class to 
which Larry Bailey belongs, dares to write to me, I'll dash his letters 
in his face, as I have a mind to do with yours. 1 suppose you imag- 
ined yon would find Nell Larkin madly in love with you, and by the 
love-light glowing in her eyes she'd tell you of it ; or she, perhaps, 
would seek to kiss your hand as a token of your power over her. If 
such Avere your imaginings you've been fooled, sir, for 1 would de- 
spise one of my own class who would be so base, much more than do 
I despise you, who fondly imagine that the little carcass enfolded in 
that broadcloth suit contains a soul as chivalrous as a Launcelot or 
Gawain. 

Enter Jim Laekin, door, i,.r. 

Jim. (c.) I'm just in time, Bailey ; you're getting pale. In a 
few moments more, and there would have been an occasion for a new 
monument in yonder cemetary. Strangers would read, " Hie jacet — 
Larry Bailey, aged twenty-two, talked to death." But I've saved you 
— and now I want to know what all this racket means. 

Larry. Those letters — she accuses me of writmg them to her ! - 

Nell, f Angrily. ) These letters — he denies writing them. 

Jim. Hold on here, one at a time. Take it calmly, my sister. Be 
calm like your brother. Now pass me those letters and I'll investi- 
gate the matter. 

Larry. With your permission I'll glance at them also. 

(Nell gives letters to Jim. 

Jim. All right. ( Examines letters. ) It is a piit up job— I don't 
believe you ever wrote these letters. 

Larry. I can swear that I did not. 

Nell. How do you know, Jim, that he did not ? 

Jim. Gentle, sister ; that is my secret. 

Nell. Who did write them ? 

Jim. That is a very important question. 

Larry. Do you know ? 

Jim. Perhaps I do, and perhaps I don't. 

Nell. I cannot understand these letters. But I find that I have 
wronged you, Mr. Bailey, and for my harsh language I ask forgive- 
ness. 

Jim. Consider yourselves forgiven, and thank me for bringing 
peace ; thank me for stilling the tempest of your wrath. Eemember 
there is a time for war, a time lor peace, and a time to drink ; let us 
indulge mildly on this occasion. 

Nell. Do you drink, Mr. Bailey ? 

Larry. I do not. I promised a friend of mine that I would not. 



BKOKEN PROMISES. 31 

Nell Then keep yonr promise. 

Jim. That promise won't iuclude a compound that I'll fix for yon. 

Larry. Never miud, I will not drink. 

Jhn. Yes you will. We have had trouble here, and it's a rule of 
mine that all unpleasant recollections have to be washed away. 

(Ex'd s.E.ii. 

Larry. What an odd genius that brother of yours is, MIbs Lar- 
kin ! 

Nell. Yes he is. Jim is a man whom any sister might be proud of 
if he would only let drink alone, bnt he won't, and I cannot hope that 
he will ever be any better than he is now, and the thought of that 
drives me to despair. 

Larry. I can sympathize witk you, for drink has brought a world 
of trouble to a friend of mine. 

Elder Jim Larkin, s.e.l., with tray, glasses of lemonade, &c. 
Jim. Now we will indulge in the mildest kind of a drink. Small 
quantities of lemon and sugar and large quantities of water ! Here, 
Mr. Bailey, and Nell. ( Gives euch of them a glass— they drink. 

Larry. Your glass is not full, you are quite temperate. 

{Jim fills his glass from flask ivhich he takes from his pocket. 

Jim. I like mine flavored. Here is hoping, Mr. Bailey — oh, you 

have finished yours— well, here goes. My poor stomach will think 

there is another deluge coming, with all this water. (Drinks. 

Larry. I think you have flavored mine with something, it had a 

very peculiar taste. 

Enter Ned McCall, door l.f. 

Larry. Ah ! Ned McCall here. I fear that I am in a trap— you 
have drugged me. (Staggers to chair, l.) I'm so sleepy! Miss 
Larkin, I— did— not- think this of you— do not rob me. (Falls l. 

Nell, (c.) Ned, Jim, what does this mean? Have you killed 
bim ? Oh, this is dreadful ! See, he is dead ! 

Jim. No, he ain't dead ; but he is only sleeping. 

Ned. ( To Jim, l. ) It work's like a charm. 

Jim. Beautiful ! Here let us get him up and put him in that 
chair by the table. 

( They pla^e him in chair with his head leaning on table, l. c. 

Nell. (Kneeling by Larry.) Mr. Bailej', speak to me, tell me 
what is wrong. 

Jim. (li.c.) Are the folks coming ? 

Ned. Yes, here they come. 

Nell. Tell me that I am not to blame. 

Enter Mrs. Fields and Kittie Fields, door l.f. 
llrs. F. (k. ) There is your lover with your rival kneeling by 
him. Men are all false. What do you think now of that paragon of 
men, Larry Bailey ? I told you that we should find him here, but 
that we should find him drunk was more than I expected. 



32 BEOKEN PKOMISES. 



KUtie. (L.C.) Larry, Larry, speak to me, tell me why you are 
with these people. Speak ! 

Ned. (L. ) He is drunk, Kittie, there is no use in talking to him. 

Nell. (K.c.) He is not drank. Miss Fields, do you think I am 
to blame for this, that I have brought him here to make trouble be- 
tween you and Mx. Bailey ? 

Kittie. Do not come near me ! How dare you speak to me ? Go 
talk to Lawrence Bailey, who was once a man but now a man no 
longer. 

Nell. Listen to me, Miss Fields. Let me tell you all I know about 
this trouble. Hear me and believe me that he is not to blame. He 
has not been drinking. 

Kittie. Every word you utter is an insult to me. The curse of a 
poor heart-broken, homeless girl be upon you. You and that womau 
have crushed every hope, every joy of my life. My father ruined, 
and Larry — you have made him break every vow he ever made me. 
How happy you two must be, how you can rejoice to know that heart- 
broken and crushed, I go out in the world alone to battle or to die. 

(Goes to door, l.f. 

Mrs. F. I promised you, young lady, that this day should come 
— your father is a wreck, and your lover false — go and remember 
that I fulfil my promises. 

(Exit Kittie, l.f. — NELii sits hy iahle, opposite of Labbt and 
loeeps — Larky Bailey still unconscious. 

Jim. Well this is about one degree meaner than I supposed it 
was going to be. Poor Nell, there, has to shoulder all the blame. I 
am going to squeal. 

3frs. F. Jim, remember the fifty dollars. 

Nell. (Bisbuj.) Fifty dollars! This, then, is a plot of yours 
against Kittie Fields, and you have made a cat's-paw of me to execute 
your villainy, and make Kittie Fields think her lover untrue to 
her. 

Mrs. F It certainly has that appearance. 

Nell. Were you concerned in it, Ned ? 

Ned. Yes ! 

Nell. And you, Jim ? 

Jim. I was interested in it pecuniarily. 

Nell. Who wrote those letters to me ? 

Ned. I did. Good joke, wasn't it ? 

Nell. Take Mr. Bailey home. You have blighted the life of that 
young girl, and you have ruined the name of a poor girl whose only 
treasure was her good name. 

(Music — Ned and Jim lead Labey o^s.E,ii. 

Fnler Maek Fields, door l.f. 

Mark, (n.) Where is she ? I can't find her ; I have looked and 
looked. My Kittie, I am looking for her. Did you see her, girl ? 



BROKEN PROMISES. 33 

Nell. (L.) She was here, but is gone ! 

3f7'S. F. (R.) Say uo more to him. 

Mark. (c. ) Where has she goue ? 

MIL I do not know. 

3Iark. ( To Mrs. Fields. ) Do you know where she is ? 

Mrs. F. You do not expect me to hunt for her, do you ? 

Mark. I do. You have driven her away, now briug her back. 
Where is she I say — where is my little girl whose heart you've 
broken ? 

Mrs. F. Come home with me and get some sleep. We will talk 
about her to-morrow. 

Mark. You'll talk about her now. Do you know what I'll do with 
you if any harm comes to her ? 

Mrs. F. You'll blow around as you're doing now I presume ? 

Mark. I'll tell you what I'll do ; I'll kill you like I would a rat. 

Mrs. F. Mark Fields come home, and I'll get you something that 
will do you good. 

Mark. What's that ? 

Mrs. F. Brandy. 

Mark. If you offer me drink again, I'll dash it in your face. You 
and brandy were the cause of all my troubles. Mark Fields was a 
man once, but you and brandy have made fine work with him ; you 
have robbed me of my girl. 

Mrs. F. I rob you of your girl ? I'll tell you now what I do know. 
She has found that her lover was false to her and she intimated she 
would never return home. 

Mark. This is some more of your devilish work. 

Mrs. F. Well, suppose it was, what are you going to do about it ? 

Mark. What am I going to do about it? I am going to look for 
her until I find her, if it takes every dollar I have. Another thiug 
I'm going to do, I'm going to leave that truck alone which you've 
been giving rne. But I'll balk you. You are too anxious for a fun- 
eral in our' family — you thought I'd drink myself to death, and then 
you and that son of yours would have it all. Bat you are doomed to 
disappointment. I'll leave the drink alone, I'll find my girl, and 
there's one thing more I'll do, and that you'll find out when it 
comes, 

Mrs. F. Yes, of course, " In the Sweet By and By " when you quit 
drinking. 

Mark. You can taunt me with my broken promises, but by the 
memory of my dead one that is sleeping at Dunlea — in the green and 
quiet churchyard at my old home at Dnulea — I'll keep my word ; 
her child and mine shall never say that homeless and alone she had 
to battle in the world, and all for you. (Falls in chair at table. 

Enter Ned McCall, door s.E.ii. 

Mrs. F. You are just in time. I want you to help me get this 
man home. 



34 BEOKEN PEOMISES. 



Ned. What is the matter ? 

Mrs, F. f Touching her head.) The trouble is here. 

Md. Is be a little off? Well, let us take biiu, 

Mark. (Starts up.) Lay a baud upon me, if you dare. Tou 
know better thau to touch me. Your day of trouble making for me 
is almoHt over. How pleased you were to see me going to the saloon 
each day. Each step toward that saloon was a step toward my grave ; 
but that is over now, and you two may find another home. 

(Mcits L,F. 

Ned. He has got it bad, ain't he ? 

Nell. (Aside.) I will tell him all about it. (Calling.) Mr. 
Fields, Mr. Fields. (Exitiur. 

Mrs. F. He intends to give us trouble. We must put Mark 
Fields where he cannot harm us. 

Ned. You don't mean 

Nrs. F. What? 

Ned. IMurder. 

31rs. F. No. I suppose you observed that he was not in his right 
mind? 

Ned. Yqs. 

Mrs. F He shall be caged in an asylum. 

JVed. How cau we get hiiu there ? 

Mrs. F. By a physician's certificate, and Jim Larkin shall be our 
medical authority to certify in this case. 

Ned. Jim Larkin ? 

Mrs. F. Yes 1 We must act proiuptly in this matter. Patients at 
that asylum never get well when not convenient that they should. 

Enter Jim Laezin, door, l.f. 

Mrs. F. You are just in time, Jim, I want you. 

Jim. (E.) All right! Where is Nell? 

Mrs. F (c. ) She ran off after Mark Fields. 

Jim. Mark Fields ! What was he doing here ? 

3Irs. F. Looking for his daughter. I am sorry to say, Jim, that 
Mr. Fields is not now in his right mind ; in fact, he is dangerous, 
and I think it is best that he should be removed immediately to a 
place where he can receive proper treatment. 

Jim. I comprehend, madam, but no kidnapping for James at the 
present writing. 

Mrs. F. Don't be a fool ; wait imtil you ai« asked. We want a 
certificate of Mark Fields' insanitj', signed by Dr. James Larkin. 

Jim. What, play physician ? I can't waste my valuable time iu 
that manner. 

Mrs. F. Jim, you must ; we want no fooling iu this matter. I 
will pay you well. You will certify to Mark Fields' insanity, and ac- 
company Ned and 1 to the asylum. For your services you will re- 
ceive one hundred dollars and expenses. 



BBOKEN PROMISES. 35 

Jhn. When do I receive the collateral? 

3frs. F. Wheu your work is cloue. 

Jhn. All right ! 

Mrs. F. After to-morrow night Mark Fields will be dead to all the 
world. 

Eater Nell Larkin, door l.f. 

Nell. No, he shall not die. I heard you, madam. Thank heaven, 
I heard your plot and I will save him. 

Mrs. F, Jim, you must silence her ! ( Tableau, 

END OF ACT IV. 



ACT V. 

Scene. — A Drawing-Room at Mark Fields* House. Centre arch. 
Doors s.e.r. and s.e.l. Tables ii.c. and l.c. Sofa l. up stage. 
/Six chairs. 

Miter Jim Larkin, c.from b. ; suit don't fif^ much too large. 

Jim. Here we are iu our new clothes. Don't we look perfectly gor- 
geous, they fit so close. I get all these clothes and one hundred dol- 
lars for uiy profound knowledge of the human system. These clothes 
were purchased for the purpose of sending Mark Fields to a Luna'tic 
Asylum. If the old man had to wear them, I think they would, but 
as he don't, it is as yet uncertain. Well, is this house deserted? 
Where are they all ? Here comes old Mark, and sober too ; that is 
bad lor the old lady. 

Enter Mark Fields, c. frorn l. 

Mark, (l.c.) You here ? 
Jim. (rc. ) It has that appearance. 
Mark. Where are the rest of them ? 
Jim. Sorry I can't inform you, Mr. Fields. 
Mark. Then we are all alone ? 

Jim. We are, unless you have some spirits about you. 
Mark. No, sir ! Larkin, don't you want to do a decent act before 
you die, and get paid for it ? 

Jim. 1 do, especially the getting paid for it. 
Mark. You know that Kittie is gone. 



36 BEOKEN PROMISES. 



Jim, Yes, I have been informed that such was the case. 

Mark. I want you to find her. 

Jim. Me find her ? 

Mark. Yes, you have done enough for those two people ; you can 
work for me now. You find my girl and two hundred dollars is 
yours. 

Jim. I'll do it — shake ! ( Offers hand. 

Mark. My word is good enough. There is one thing more that I 
want to know, where is Jack McCall ? 

Jill). Well you see Jack's past record ain't any better than some 
members of Conj^ress, and he is not desirous of coming before the 
public prominently ut present, no I guess I'll keep my mouth shut 
about him. 

Mark. Wouldn't mouey open it? 

Jim. Thus far in life it has always' flown open for stamps, and this 
may be no exception to the general rule. 

Mark. Well, you bring Jack McCall here ; let them m6et face to 
face, that woman and him, and three hundred dollars will be yours. 

( Going lip c. 

Jim. Three hundred dollars — shake ! I'll bring him here dead or 
alive for that money. 

Mark. I want him alive and soon. (Mail c. 

Jim. Ain't business picking up though. I shall soon be a bloated 
bond-holder. Two hundred to find Kittie Fields, three hundred to 
bring Jack McCall here ; I can do both. Five hundred for Jim in 
one day ain't bad. The world wrongs me ; people think I am in- 
capable of doing a good deed ; it's false, I am a'lways glad to act hon- 
estly and virtuously if there's any money in it. And now as I get a 
great deal more to keep Mark Fields out of prison, than I do to get 
him in, I am going to be virtuous and keep him out. And now I 
must find Jack McCall and fill him full of benzine and bring him 
here, confront the false wife, draw my three hundred and get bliss- 
fully happy. We will have an immense sensation here to-day. Jim 
Larkin will be an humble instrument in the hands of fate, for a given 
amount of n)oney, to work a terrible retribution. I feel that I'm a 
regular retributionist, full of deep laid plots and iiitrigues. If it 
wasn't for my modesty and virtue I'd make a statesman. Here is 
just the person I want to see. What does she want here ? 

Enter Nkt-l Laekin, hurriedly, c. from l. 

Nell. Where is Mark Fields ? 

Jim. He left a few moments ago. 

Hell. (L.c. ) I must see him. 

Jim. inc.) What is up, sister? 

Nell. Oh, Jim, you know that these people mean to do something 
terrible. , 

Jim. No ! that is all right. I am on the side of justice and right, 



BROKEN PROMISES. 37 

&c., now. I am Mark Fields' friend : he has jnst paid me a good 
liberal sum for m,y friendship and it is his. But I have something 
for you to do. You know where Kittie Fields is ? 

Nell. Yes ! 

Jim. Go and bring her here. 

Nell. It is no use, she will not believe me. 

(Jim goes to table and writes. 

Jim. Here give her this, that will bring her. Find Larry Bailey 
first and take liim along with you. Now you get out of here quick, 
and get Kittie Fields — and stop, I'll go too, for I have some one else 
to find. (Exit Nelli and Jim, s.e.l. 

Elder Ned McCall and Mus. Fields, /?-o?)i s.e.e. 

Mrs. F. (li.) Has Jim got his jjapers ready ? 

Ned. (r,) I suppose so. 

3frs. F. What if our plan should fail ? 

Ned. It must not fail. 

31rs. F. If Mark keeps his word faithfully in regard to Kittie as 
he has about his drinking, she will be back here soon. 

Ned. There is one thing more that he has promised, 

31rs. F. What is that ? _ 

Ned. He means to get rid of you and I ? 

Mrs. F. How can he do that ? 

Ned. If he should find father. 

Mrs. F. Silence ! never mention that man's name to me. 

Ned. All right, I won't ; but I am afraid of that man Mark ! 

Mrs. F. I am not afraid of him ; he has been under my thumb 
thus far, and there he shall remain until the time comes for me to 
erect a monument to commemorate his virtues. 

Ned. I hope so. 

Mrs. F. If he is not intoxicated, we must drug him. He must go 
to the asylum before morning. 

Eater Mark Fields, c. 

Mark, (c.) I wonder where he is ? 

Mrs. F. Who are you looking for ? 

Mark. I am looking for Jim Larkin. 

M7S. F. What business have you with such characters as Jim Lar- 
kin. 

Mark. He is about as good as the rest of you. 

Mrs. F. Be careful how you insult me. Jim Larkin is no fit asso- 
ciate for you, and I desire that you shall not bring him to my 
house. 

Mark. Your house— you'll find out soon whose house it is. 

( Crosses to u 

3frs. F. (c. , to Ned, r. c. ) You see we must not fail ; he means 
to give us trouble. 



38 BROKEN PROMISES, 

Mark. (l. ) Here comes the young man now. 
Miter Jim Larein, s.e.l. 

Mark. Well, here j^ou are again. You are a very unwelcome 
guest, Jim Larkin, my M'ife don't want you here. 

Jhn. (L. ) She don't ? I am sorry, indeed I am. 

3Iark. (l.c. ) If she don't want you here, she can order j'ou out. 
You can settle that between yourselves. I am tired and I want to rest 
a bit. ( Goes io sofa up siage L. 

Mrs. F. (L.c.) Jim, are you playing us false? Why was lij^ark 
Fields looking for you ? 

Jim. (c. ) Now don't be sill.y. Mark is a regular old gull. I 
took him in bad. Don't be afriiid of old Jim. 

Mrs. F. Remember you have not got your hundred dollars yet, 
and if 1 find any treachery iu yon, you'll never get it. 

Jim. Treachery — Low can you talk so ? Say can*t you pay a 
small installment now on tLat hundred? 

Mrs. F. No, sir ; you must go through what you've undertaken. 
Everything is in readiness. Ned, where is the chloroform ? 

Ked. (R. ) Here it is ! 

Jim. Do you ^ant it administered by a physician ? 

Mrs. F. I'll attend to this myself. 1 want none of your bungling. 
If he gets too much it will be another case of appoplexy, and I am 
going to be sure he gets enough. Is it time, do you think, to give it 
to him ? 

Jim. Shall I feel his pulse and see? 

Mrs, F. Don't 3'ou go near him. ( She goes softly to sofa, lu.) He 
ps. 

Jim. 'Tis well ! 

Mrs, F. We will find out soon whose house it is, he said — we will. 
I'll help you sleep, and if by this — ( Saturates handkerddef) — comes 
that long dreamless sleep, you ought to send your thanks to me when 
you reach that far off land uutrod by mortals, for to die by this is joy 
compared to what's in store for you. Now breathe it softy. Ah ! he 
sighs. Perhaps he is dreaming of the one whose goodness and whose 
virtues he extols continir.illy — t-he one who is sleeping at Dunlea. 
( She presses the handkerchief to his nose — Mark starts uj) and drags 
her doinn c. ) Help here, quick ! Ned, Jim, come hold liim down, it 
Avill take but a minute. 

Mark. (c. ) Womaii, are 5'on the devil ? Is there anything human 
about YOU ? I thought every human being had a spark of pity or of 
love, but you have none. You thought to kill me while 1 slept. I 
was not asleep. I lay there, hearing all you said. I heard those 
words that meant murder, murder, and the one who promiKed me 
that she'd love me till death should come, was the one that breathed 
those words. 

Jim.. (L, ) She was afraid she'd break her word, and was hurrying 
death aloncr. 



BROKEN PROMISES, 39 



Mark. Her will was good enough, but it was not to be ; let her 
siu be upon her. 

Enter LA-RRr Bailey, Kittie Fields, and Nell Larkin, from c. 

Mark. Oh, my girl, luy Kittie, you've come back' to me, come 
home. Why did you leave me? 

K'dlie. How could I stay, father, when all my friends, as I thought, 
had deserted me ? 

Larry, (r. c. ) She has had occasion to change her mind in regard 
to that, 

Mark. Here is my hand, Larry, t am glad to know you never 
wronged my girl. 

Kiltie. Nell Larkin was the one whom I blamed most for wronging 
me. She told me at the time that she was innocent. She begged of 
me to hear her story, but I would not. I spurned her from me, and 
3'et she looked for me to-day and found me where I was trying to 
fight the battle of life aloue. 

Nell. (L.c.) I was the innocent cause of her bitterest trouble, and 
when I had a chance to right the wrong done through me by these 
people, it was but my duty to do so. 

Ned. (R.) Nell, Nell, be careful what you say, 

Jim. (L.) No remarks, Neddy, it ain't your time to speak. It is 
about time for me to rise and explain. 

2Irs. F. (R. corner. ) Be careful what yoit H^y. 

Jim. (l.) I am going to make a few general remarks. I am here 
at present by special request — at the request of Mrs. and Mr. Fields. 
Perhaps you are not all acquainted with the fact that I am here in 
the character of a physician, an expert in insanity cases. 

Mr.'i. F. Jim, will you be quiet ? 

Jim. Yes, presently — you can have the floor in a few moments. 
And now yow will excuse me if I speak learnedly as becomes one of 
my profession. Mrs. Fields claims that she has reason to believe her 
husband non compo me)dis. It was intimated to me tliat my presence 
here was desired at this time ; no particular explanation was made, 
but, verhun sat sapienti, I came. I found that this devoted wife, \\'h(3 
has always shown a remarkable degree of interest in her liusband, 
had decided that, however much it might pain her to see him go, yet 
duty demanded it ; and liis poor tired brain would find rest in the 
beauties, tlie joys, the pleasures that surround one in a mad-house. 
He might not want to go, but, nolens volens, go he must. 'J'he soper- 
ific was applied to his olfactor}^ organs, but the spirit within the man 
was stronger thau the spirit without, that was being applied. The 
chloroform failed, and I am now calmly waiting the move of the per- 
son witii the disordered brain. 

Mrs. F. We will pay you for this, Jim Larkin. How much do 
you get for betraying us ? 

Jim, A good deal more than you were willing to pay me for certi- 
fying that your husband was craz}'. 



40 BROKEN PROMISES. 



Mrs. F. "What cau you do, Mark Fields, after all. I defy you to 
do anything with me, I am your wife, you dare not. 

Hark. You are no wife of mine, and to-night you leave this house. 

Mrs. F. Your first assertion you know is false, and try to enforce 
the latter if you dare. 

Mark. ( To Jim. ) We are ready for the next move now. 

(Exit Jim, s.e.l,. 

Ned. They have all turned against us ; can you not speak a word 
for your old friends, Nell ? 

Nell I have a word to say to you, not for you. I despise you now, 
Ned McCall, more than I ever loved you. Before you became an in- 
mate of this Louse you treated me with disrespect, yet I forgave you. 
I clung to you, for woman will bear much from those she loves, but 
when you tried to blast my reputation, making me the tool in your 
hands to drive Miss Fields away, there my love turned to hatred. — no, 
you are not worth hating, I scorn you, I disjnse you. 

Mrs. F. Who are you, Nell Lark in, that dares to utter such words 
to my son, l'"ou think you have triumphed over me. You'll see. 

Enter Jim Laekin and Jack McCall, s.e.l. 

Mrs. F. Who is this? Oh, Jack McCall, you fiend, have you 
come back from the dead to render my defeat more galling ? 

Jack. "Come back from the dead." Don't give us au}' game like 
that, l^ou knew I was not dead. You thought I did not dare return, 
and 3'ou shook me and took this stranger in. You run a good chance 
of the penitentiary. It's a good revenge I've had on you, this coming 
back to beat you now. 

Jim. (To Mrs. Fields.) Now is the winter of your discontent 
made most inglorious by the coming of this son-of-a-gun. 

Murk. (c. ) Woinan, you are not Avanted 'ere now, take yourself 
out of mj' sight forever. Go, woman, out of that door, and may you 
never bring to other homes the misery that you Imve brought to 
rpine. 

Jim. Sic transit gloria mundi. 

Mrs. F. There is no forgiveness in your heart, you say. Who 
asks you for forgiveness? Not I ; there's nothing that I ask of you. 
Farewell, Mark Fields ! The scorn you have for me, is equalled only 
by my hate for you. ( Exit c. 

Mark. (To Ned.) Yoimg man, it is time for you to go ; we are 
done with you. (To Jack.) I'll see you, sii*, to-morrow, but leave 
us now. (Exit Ned and Jack, c. ) The days th;it are past how dark 
they've been. Ah, this has been a home of broken promises, but 
we'll renew our vows once more. Trouble made me drink, but 
drinking did not cure them. The more I drank, the more the troubles 
came. They are over now, thank heaven ! She dragged me down I 
know, but 

Jim. llesurgam ! 



BROKEN PROMISES. 41 

Larry. Give us a rest on your Latiu, Jim. Your role of physician 
has beeu played. You played it well, but now the play is over. 

Jim. And I am waiting for my fee. 

Mark. In due time you'll get that. You have done well. You 
worked for money it is true, but I'll grant there is a little virtue in 
you yet. 

Jim. You bet there is. I'm full of it. 

Mark. Jim, there are four of us going to leave this country soon. 
To my old home at Duulea we are going— Nell and Kittie, and Larry 
and I. Nell must go. She is not to be left here to suffer annoyances 
from those people. Over there she'll be free from them. We are 
coming back some day, and I would like it, could I see her smile 
when that day comes and say, "Poor reckless Jim has sobered now, 
there's no more broken promises for him." 

Jim. You've struck me hard, old man. A kindness to my sister 
lakes me off my balance as it were. If I could be a solid, square-toed 
man I'd do it for your sake. I'd hate to try it, I'm afraid the job 
would be a failure. Whenever you hear that old Jim has quit his 
pranks you'll know he's gone where there are no Broken Promises. 



Disposition of Characters, 



Mark. ,,. 



OUBTAm. 



THE ETHIOPIAN DRAMA 

PRICE 15 CENTS EACH. 



1 Robert Make-Airs. 

2 Box and Cox. 

3 Mazeppa. 

4 Uuited States Mail. 

5 The Coopers. 

G Old Dad's Cabin. 

7 The Rival Lovev-^. 

8 The JSham Doctor. 

9 Jolly Mill. rs. 

10 Villikins and his Dinah. 

11 The Quack Doctor. 

12 The Mystic Spell. 

13 The Black Statue. 
U Uncle Jeff. 

15 The IMischievous Nigger. 

16 The Black Shoemaker. 

17 The lyiagic Penny. 

18 The Wreck. 

19 Oh Hush ; or, The Virginny Cu- 

20 The Portrait Painter. [pids. 

21 The Hop of Fashion. 

22 Bone Sqnash. 

23 The Virgiuigi Mummy. 
21: Thieves at the Mill. 

25 Comedy of Errors. 

26 Les Miserables. 

27 New Year's Calls. 

28 Troublesome Servant. 

29 Great Arrival. 

30 Rooms to Let. 

31 Black Crook Burlesque. 

32 Ticket Taker. 

33 Hypochondriac, 

34 William Tell. 

35 Rose Dale. 

36 Feast. -> 

37 Fenian Spy. 

38 Jack's the Lad. ^ 

39 Othello. 

40 Camille. 

41 Nobody's Son. 

42 Sports on a Lark. 

43 Actor aiid Singer. 

44 Shylock. 

45 Quarrelfiomo Servants, 

46 Haunted House. 

47 No Cure, No Pay. 

48 Fighting for the Union. 

49 Handet the Dainty. 

50 Corsi can Twins. 

51 Deaf — in a Horn. 

52 Challenge Dance. 

53 De Trouble begins at Nine. 

54 Scenes at Gurney's. 



56 Stage-struck Darkey. 

57 Black Mail. 

58 Highest Price for Old Clothes. 

59 Howls from the Owl Train. 

60 Old Hunks. 

61 The Three Black Smiths. 

62 Turkeys in Season, 

63 Juba. 

64 A Night wid Brudder Bones. 

65 Dixie. 

66 King Cuffee. 

67 Old Zip Coon. 

68 Cooney in de Hollow. 

69 Porgy Joe. 

70 Gallus Jake. 

71 De Coon Hunt. 

72 Don Cato. 

73 Sambo's Return. 

74 Under de Kerosene. 

75 Mysterious Stranger. 

76 De Debbil and Dr. Faustum. 

77 De Old Gum Game. 

78 Huuk's Wedding Day. 

79 De Octoroon. 

80 Do Old Kentucky Home. 

81 Luciii da's Wedding. 

82 Munibo Jura. 

83 De Creole Ball. 

84 Mishaps of Csesar Crum. 

85 Pete s Luck. 

86 Pete and Ephraini 

87 Jube Hawkins 

88 De Darkey's Dreani. 

89 Chris Johnson. 

90 Scipio Africanus. 

91 De Ghost ob Bone Squash, 

92 De Darkey Tragedian. 

93 Possum Fat. 

94 Dat Same Old Coon. 

95 Pop-^e^y Df'an. 

96 Di Rival Mokes. 

97 Uncle Tom. ;, 
93 Desdemr-ium. 

99 Up Hen ■ 

100 Do ]\laid ob de Hunkpuncas. 

101 Do Trail ob Blood. 

102 De Debbil and de Maiden. 

103 D^ Cream ob Tenors. 

104 Old Uncle J^illy. 

105 An Elephant on Tee. 

106 A Manager in a Fix. 

107 Bones at a Raffle. 

108 Aunty Chloe. 

109 Dancing ]\Iad. 

110 Julianna Johnson. 



55 16,000 Years Ago. 

Either of the above will be sent by mail, on receipt of price, by 

HAPPY HOUKS COMPANY, 

No. 5 Beekman Street, New York. 



I 



THE ACTING DRAIWIA. 



PRICE 15 CENTS E LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 



Single Life. 
Boarding School 
The Spitfire. 
Irish Dragoon. 
School for I'igers. 
Gabrielle de Bella Isle. 
Tipperary Legacy. 
Deeds of Dreadful Note. 
A Peculiar Position. 
A Private Inquiry. 
I'll Tell Your Wife. 
Fast Family. 
Antony and Cleopatra 

Married and Settled. 
My Friend m the Straps. 
School for Scheming (Love 

and Money). 
Our Mary Anne. 
Miseries of Human Life. 
An Irish h'.ngagement. 
How to Settle Accounts 

With Your Laundress. 
Advice Gratis. 
A Hasty Conclusion. 
Weak Points. 
Grace Darling. 
A Gray Mare. 
Middle 'iemple. 
The Original. 
The Sentinel. 
Tiger at Large. 
WhyDid YouDie? 
Sayings and Doings. 
Twin Brothers. 
Ask no Questions. 



33 Cure for Coquettes 

34 Cabin Boy. 

35 Who Stole the Spoor 

36 Mrs. Gamps Tea and 
3'7 Village Doctor. 
38 Family Pride. 
.39 Queen Mary. 

40 Three Graces. 

41 Race Ball. 

42 Presented at Court. 

43 A Sign of Aflfection. 

44 D:incing Barber. 

45 Who's Your Friend ? 

46 Charity. 

47 Wicked World, [ing Well 

48 Mother and Child are Do- 

49 Lying in Ordinary. 

50 The ringdoves 

51 Camille. 

52 Lady Clancarty. 

53 Ten Nights in a Bar-room. 

54 Drunkard's Warning 

55 Fifteen Years of a Drunk- 

ard's Life. 

56 Fruits of the Wine Cup. 

57 Aunt Dinah s Pledge. 

58 Yankee Peddler. 

59 Vermont Wool Dealer. 

60 Persecuted Dutchman. 

61 Stage-Struck Yankee. 

62 The Limerick Boy (Paddy 

Miles Boy). 

63 Drunkard's Home. 

64 Bachelor's Bed-Room. 

65 Perfection /I'he Cork Leg! 




016 115 998 i 



73 io i^et, r urnisneu. 

74 The Lo.st Heir. 

75 Is the Man Mad ? 

76 A Trip to Cambridge. 

77 Twenty and Forty. 

78 Hob-Nobbing. 

79 The Great Eastern. 
So Three Guesses. 

81 Getting up in the World. 

82 Wardrobe. 

83 Generous Jew. 

84 A Crumpled Rose Leaf. 

85 Wild Flowers. [Ladies. 

86 Don't All Speak At Once, 

87 Woman Nature Will Out. 

88 Aunt Bet-sy's Beaux. 

89 Child of Circumstances. 

90 Women's Club. 

91 Shamrock. 

92 The Changelings. 

93 Society for Doing Good but 

94 Matrimony. [Saying Bad. 

95 I-Jefiuement. 

96 Master-piece. 

97 Frenchman. 

98 Punch and Judy. 

99 Afy Precious Betsy. 

I )o Woman of the World. 



THE AMATEUR STAGE. 

PRICE 15 CENTS EACH. 



Aladdin and the Wonder- 
ful Lamp. 
The Loves of Little Bo- 
Peepand Little Boy Blue. 

Little Silver Hair and the 
Three i>ears. 

Rohm Hood; or, the Alerrv 
Men of Slierwood Forest. 

Little Red Riding Hood. 

The Frog Prince. 

Blue Beard ; or. Female 

Curiosity. 
Jack, the Giant Killer. 

Two Gentlemen at Mivarts 

Dark Deeds. 

Marry in Haste and Re- 
pent at Leisure. 

Wearinij of the Green 

The Result of a Nap. 

Monsieur Pierre. 

Virtue Victorious. 

Love (Burlesque). 

Afloat and Ashore. 

Tragedy Transmogrified. . 

Fairy Freaks. 

A Medical Man. 



Harlequin Little Red Rid- 
ing Hood 

Fireside Diplomacy. 

Ingomar (Burlesque). 

Money Makes the Man. 

The Happy Dispatch. 

An Eligible Situation. 

The Pet Lamb. 

The Last Lily. 

'I'he Three Temptations. 

Katharine and Petruchio 
( Burle.sque). 

His First Brief. 

The Girls of the Period. 

Matched but not iMated. 

Penelope Anne. 

A Woman will be a Wo- 
man. 

Caught in his own Toils. 

Cousin Florence. 

Lucy's Love Lesson. 

A Game of Billiards. 

The Wrong Bottle 

A Lyrical Lover. 

A Bad Temper. 

•Women's Rights. 



Mischievous Bob. 

A PintofvVle. 

The Last Drop. 

The Wine Cup. 

Out in the Streets. 

Mothers and Fathers. 

Taken in and Done For. 

All's Fair in Love and War 

Dross frora Gold. 

Auntjerusha's Visit.. 

The Village Belle. 

Lord Dundreary's Visit. 

My Peter. 

The Cream of Love. 

The Babes in the Wood. 

Closing of the " Eagle." 

Don't Marry a Drunkard 
to Reform Him. 

Furnished Apartments. 

The Harvest Storm. 

Maud's Command. 

Out of the Depths. 

The Poisoned Darkies. 

Ralph Coleman's Refor- 
mation. 

Slighted Treasures. . 



Either of the above will be sent by mail, on receipt of price, by 

HAPPY HOURS COMPANY, 

No. 5 Beekman Street, New York. 



